The Philosophical Sphinx
by Nitlon
Summary: Herring. It's just not right, is it?


Disclaimer: Oh, bully, if I owned the rights to the movie, would I just be _writing_ about it?

"Herring," the sphinx grumbled, his feet clack-clack-clacking on the stones. "What kind of an answer is 'herring'? She made it up, that's what she did, she made it up. I'll have to take that to the Queen. Herring is _not_ an acceptable riddle. Herring." He had, himself, never actually seen a herring, but he knew from experience that they are not green, nor do they hang on walls, nor do they bloody well whistle! And he'd yet to see anyone with little enough sense to actually paint a whistling herring green and nail it to a wall.

The sphinx did not get duped often, and when he did he tended to get rather hung up on it. And then there was that arrogant spiky haired fiend of a creature who would not even ANSWER his own riddle!

Valentine, at the moment, was strolling down the street, practically careening for the giants orbiting. In the weeks that had passed, Helena had, of course, rebuilt the Land of Light and the Land of Shadow, because it was her duty. Valentine was just making sure it was the same as before. That's all. Retracing their steps? Valentines do not do such petty things! They simply don't!

Helenas do. In fact, she was doing it right now, paying attention to all the places where they'd been, because those were the ones she remembered most vividly. But more on that later.

The sphinx, upon seeing Valentine trotting up towards the courtyard and disturbing the mist, approached him, a scowl on his strangely human face.

Valentine hadn't had any plans on actually _talking_ to the little beastie. This would have been a good plan, because the little beastie wasn't quite so very fond of him.

"Halt!"

Valentine halted. "Oh, fine, what do you get-"

"I'm asking the riddles! Why do you keep assuming that you get to ask the riddles! It's completely unfair to me!"

"Well, _fine_, cat, ask me a riddle."

"It's too short for any man, but the longest thing-"

"Life," Valentine quipped sharply, tapping his foot and crossing his arms, staring through pin-sized eyeholes at the creature.

The sphinx paused, took a step back with one stilt-esque leg, his black eyes glimmering.

"You weren't supposed to get that."

"Oh, will you just let me pass, please?"

"Nobody _ever_ gets that, though!"

"Well, I just did, so move," Valentine replied, rather harshly. But then again, he was a very important man, and he had places to go!

The sphinx just sighed, and sat down on his bum.

"Can I ask you something?"

Valentine groaned. "Oh, not another riddle, puss!"

"No, no…"

"Well, what? Get on with it."

The sphinx met his eyes. "Am I good at this?"

XXX

"Well, I mean, she's kind of like a God, isn't she?"

"Not…really…" Valentine didn't want to accept something like that.

"By definition, though. She created us."

"She didn't create me! I exist of my own free will! Valentines can't just be created, willy nilly, you know." He stared at his hands, and the balls being juggled between them, raising the height until both he and the sphinx, who is lounging languidly on his side, has to look up to see them.

"Maybe she created you to think like that." Valentine didn't like to think this, either. He was denying quite a lot of thoughts. After all, he should have forgotten about his most recent friend, especially after the quick recovery from…what's-his-name…

"She did not."

There is a simple truth about dream-like adventures. Most often, the protagonist – in this case, our dear Helena – will retain something, some material object, from it, to prove that it did happen. She still has the Mirrormask. But Valentine received nothing, because he had remained in this world. So he doesn't have anything to cling to, the poor boy.

"Look, regardless of the fact that she didn't create me…maybe she created _you_, there are a million of _you_ out there, that's not the point."

Valentine had his legs crossed, his robe spread out over the stones. In front of him, the sphinx was sprawled out, clicking his tongue.

"What's the point?"

Valentine smirked, and considered saying 'it's a secret'. But that wasn't the truth (not that Valentines are entirely concerned with that).

"The point is, we need her to come back."

"Why?"

Valentine just stared at him. Why? What do you mean, why? We just _do_. Valentine shouldn't have to explain _why_.

"Oh, don't be silly, puss. You know perfectly well why. Now let me pass, I have to ask them something."

A/N: …drabble. Review if you like it/didn't like it/were neutral? Or not, but know that if you read it and don't tell me your thoughts, I'll just get huffy and make a face at you. You've been warned.


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